Literally in the trenches with the Boys, I am dreaming happy fleeting images of pink flowered shoes, beaded sandals, and leopard spotted high heeled booties. There is a roaring game of Aerosoft Hide and Seek Nerf Flashlight Tracking DaylightGame going on outside with Boys yelling and running here and there. Aliances are being formed and forgotten, orders disobeyed, new rules invented on the spot and old ones abandoned nonunanimously. Someone has been found, shot, wounded, dead. “No, only the hand is dead”, yells the ExWildBaby Child.
All this is done at FULL VOLUME and full excitement. Testosterone courses through their veins at full throttle, proportional to their distance from puberty, but there nonetheless. Just ask any mother of multi-girls who then has the fortune to have a boy. They are born BOYS. The Boy brain marinates in hormones in utero, hence the failed cultural efforts to education children in a unisex way and the complete crash and burn of the tabular rasa theory. Any mother KNOWS her offspring are not born blank slates; they have their own personalities which they assert from birth. And if they are male creatures, a new mom will see the attraction to weapons and wheels by 3 weeks of age (slight and only slight exaggeration).
Sometimes you got to GET OUT. Just ask any mother of multiple Boys. A woman has to assert herself and her femininity when she is completely outnumbered and surrounded by creatures from another planet. One of the ways I maintain my gender identity are to buy pink socks because 1. I can easily pick them out from the sea of black and navy ones and 2. No one in my household will be caught dead wearing them.
Another way I try to remember my unique XX chromosome status is to TALK to female persons now and then. It’s just a different way of speaking, almost another language. Here is an example
Old Married Woman: “Oh honey, look! I lost 3 pounds. What do you think?”, turning around for examination.
Old Married Man, glancing up from his computer or iphone or not, “ Uhh. You need to put on 5 pounds.”
Or here is another example.
Man 1:”So your wife had a baby last night.”
Man2: “Yup. Did you watch the Game?”
Later Man1’s wife: “Was it a boy or girl? What did they name it? How long was labor…..”
Man 1: “ I forgot to ask.”
Here is the first scenario, only with women as characters:
“I lost 3 pounds last week!!” Squealing with excitement.
“Oh, you look GREAT. How did you do that? What diet did you use? You mean you just cut out Starbuck Mochacchinos from your daily diet? Wow……You know I tried…….We should go shopping…..” (she takes a breath a full 3 minutes later).
Now I will confess that many of your more updated models of manhood are able to speak in full sentences, notice a woman’s every nuance and respond appropriately and in a satisfying way (to a woman). But remember, I am making a point here through storytelling , so I need to exaggerate and generalize to make myself clear. And besides, it’s more funny that way.
For those of us Venetians hanging with Martians all day long, we have to nurture ourselves a bit. I call it rubbing elbows with another bit of Estrogen. Brunch with a girlfriend, phone call, painting our toenails, fluffing our hair and shoe shopping . (Woohoo girlfriend! They got some CUUUUTTTTTTEEEE shoes out there right now) These are the things that keep us Mothers of Boys (notice the abbreviation is MOB) going as we endeavor to teach our young gentlemen that girls do not appreciate the humor found in bodily functions.
Apologies to mothers of little-girls-with-attitudes that need to get out too. I have no experience there, but I do believe you.
Apologies to all the wonderful men out there who make time so their beloved can have an estrogen date.
Apologies to the men who can dialogue with a woman and make her feel heard and appreciated.